


vision of a heartbreak coming true

by koalaxninja



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Boys being sad, canon through 4x06, that's it that's the whole thing, trigger warning for all of quentin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17970050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaxninja/pseuds/koalaxninja
Summary: I couldn’t utter my love when it countedI couldn’t whisper when you needed it shoutedWhen everything is over, Quentin runs away. Eliot keeps his promise.





	vision of a heartbreak coming true

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Supernatural Sadness by Lily & Madeleine  
> Summary lyrics from Shrike by Hozier 
> 
> This is pretty much just all angst, and yet, I think it's also the best case scenario we currently have? Y'all, Q is _not_ okay, and getting Eliot back will only fix some of that. 
> 
> There might be more story to this?? Idk, let me know if there's more you want to see. I've only ever written one-shots, and this is my first Magicians fic, so who knows.

After Eliot gets his body back, after the Monster and the Library are defeated, and the dust starts to settle back into its normal patterns, Quentin disappears. Eliot can’t blame him, especially since he doesn’t even try very hard, retreating only as far as his dad’s house. And it went unspoken among their group that that was still a sacred, solitary place for Quentin, for grief and remembrance. Not a place for intruders, not when he had so clearly run from them all, even Julia. Even Eliot. 

Eliot hasn’t seen Q since those first few hectic minutes back in his body, when they shared just one bone-crushing hug where Eliot was overwhelmed with feeling everything so much again and Quentin was covered in blood - whose, Eliot couldn’t tell. There was no time for words or any other touches because then there was Margo, beautiful, fierce, strong, heartbreaking Margo, and then they were all being hustled off to the Brakebills infirmary. Eliot spotted Quentin just once in the chaos, getting the blood cleaned off his face with Julia’s arm around his shoulders before Eliot got swept up into a litany of tests to confirm the Monster was gone from his body. Then, with Margo at his bedside and Josh and Fen lingering nearby, he slept. He slept for three days straight, and when he woke up, Q was gone. 

The rest of the group had decided they would rather stay at Marina’s - or was it Kady’s? Eliot was missing a lot of pieces of the story still - penthouse in the city. Dean Fogg might have helped them in the end, but being back at Brakebills was still - unsettling, especially after how he had been essentially trapped in the Physical Cottage in his mind for months. And Todd was… Todd. Even Alice was with them again, although Eliot had missed any of her reconciliation efforts, so he was uncertain what to do with her presence. The others tolerated her though, and Margo had just shrugged when Eliot had asked her if Alice was really welcome around them again. 

“She saved Q’s life probably half a dozen times,” Josh told him one day when they were smoking on the balcony and he had asked. “She’s been trying to keep us all alive, so I’m not gonna argue about that.” 

It was a little crowded with seven of them, even as Margo went back and forth to Fillory - the Fillory grandfather clock relocated to the penthouse, with dubious permission from Fogg - but still Eliot felt the Quentin-shaped hole left by his absence. After a week, he went begging Julia for Q’s whereabouts. She gave him a wary look, but didn’t say anything as she gave him the address in New Jersey, and Penny didn’t even complain too much about giving him a ride.

(Penny didn’t linger, but paused long enough to give Eliot a look that he recognized as how all psychics looked at people when they decided that someone was found wanting. All he said though was, “Don’t fuck this up.” He started to turn away, adding at the last moment, “And tell Coldwater to get his ass back to New York.” And then Penny was gone, but Eliot still couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but feel so damn _fond_ at how even Penny, cool, aloof, disdainful Penny ended up with a soft spot for Quentin Coldwater.) 

Julia had told him that Q was most likely going to be in the garage, his dad’s old workshop, so he circles around the back of the house and finds the side door to the garage. He knocks, and it takes a few moments where he feels like he should hold his breath before he hears movement behind the door. Then it opens, and then. Then, there is Q. 

Eliot takes a moment just to savor the sight of Quentin standing before him. The last time he had seen him had been in an adrenaline fueled haze, with lights and colors and sensations bombarding him from all sides, Q covered in blood, and everything moving too fast. Now Eliot has a chance to really drink in Quentin, the shorter hair with a bit of curl to it, the circles under his eyes, the still healing, still nasty looking cut across his forehead. He doesn’t look surprised to see Eliot though, so Julia must have texted him a head’s up. 

“Eliot,” Q says, and Eliot closes his eyes, feeling like his name had become a benediction in Q’s voice. The last time he had heard that sound, it had been choked full of desperation and relief and love and fear, but now Q sounded - not happy, exactly, but like the cracks in his world had been mended with Scotch tape and seeing Eliot had closed some of the gaping fissures left behind. 

“This looks terrible,” Eliot says, reaching out a hand for the cut across Q’s face, because why not put his foot in his mouth on his first try. 

“Yeah, uh,” Quentin takes a step back, out of Eliot’s reach, and Eliot doesn’t know if it was deliberate or an unspoken invitation to come in. He decides to take it as an invitation regardless, and follows Q inside. Q reaches up his own hand to prod at the wound, wincing. “It’s, uh, inherently magical? So it’s been pretty resistant to healing spells. Fogg gave me an ointment, but…” He trails off with a shrug, closing the door and cutting off the natural sunlight coming through the door, leaving only a few lamps for Eliot to see him by. Even in the dim light, Eliot can still make out the butterfly stitches holding the cut together over Q’s eye and Eliot wants nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms and kiss the wound away. 

“Well, you know what they say about guys with scars,” Eliot says, trying for his old suggestive smirk. His attempt at flirting falls flat, but Quentin gives him a small, pity smile before cutting his gaze away. 

“Sorry about, uh,” Q stutters, and in that tone of voice that Eliot was so achingly familiar with from replaying the memory of it over and over, a tone that elicited so much _guilt_ that it was like a stab to the chest, even as Quentin continues to apologize - _again -_ for something he has no reason to be sorry for in the first place. 

“For leaving like that, I mean. It’s just, uh, it’s been a lot the last couple months and I just needed. I needed some space. Away. From everyone, not just you, or even particularly you, really, from anything to do with magic. I could barely think there for awhile towards the end and after they patched me up, Julia suggested I take a few days off, and then-”

“Q, it’s okay,” Eliot interrupts. Q had been speaking faster and faster, desperate to explain himself for something Eliot already understood. “I mean, you did sort of ruin all my grand reunion fantasies, but I get it.” 

Quentin rubs a hand over his face, still hiding despite the shorter hair. He seems spent just from that half-panicked apology and drops into a nearby chair. Eliot stares at him for another beat, unnoticed as Q keeps his hand over his eyes, before forcing his gaze away to take in the rest of the room. The scattered debris of hundreds of smashed model airplanes, the abandoned packing materials. More tellingly, the half empty whiskey bottle and the open carton of cigarettes.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Eliot says, weaving his way through the mess to lean against the work bench, keeping a careful distance from Q, even as his every molecule strains out for him. He wasn’t used to keeping Q at arm’s distance, but the Q in front of him looked as skittish as the terrified first year he had been once, and this time, Eliot wasn’t hiding behind a sensational mask of flirtation and alcoholism, and being genuine meant respecting Q’s personal space.

Quentin huffs and drops his hands to lean back in the chair and glare up at the ceiling. “It was therapeutic at the time. My mom’s beyond pissed at me though. Refused to help me sell the house, so now I guess I’m stuck with it.” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Q.” Eliot’s list of things he has to make up to Q is so long, and not being there when his dad died was one of the bigger ones. The idea of who _was_ here with Q, who helped encourage the chaos still scattered around them, is enough guilty motivation to drive Eliot forward, even as he knows his own experience with father figures is inadequate in the face of Q’s loss. 

And Quentin _still_ won’t look at him as he shrugs. “I wasn’t there either. Not when it mattered, anyway.” 

Even as Quentin’s defeated tone sends a stab at Eliot’s heart, he knows there’s nothing he can say in this moment to assuage Quentin’s guilt, so Eliot lets the topic drop, a heavy silence falling over them. 

“Eliot, I-” Quentin cuts himself off and stares at his hands. Eliot waits, and when Q _finally_ looks up at him, he’s almost staggered by how clearly he can see Quentin’s heart breaking in his gaze. 

“Q,” Eliot says, moving forward slowly like Quentin was a cornered animal he was trying not to spook. “You should know, you were the key to me breaking out of my own mind. I needed to realize how much of an idiot I was before I could find you and tell you just how much I love you.” 

He kneels in front of Q, wanting so desperately to touch, to tuck that strand of hair behind his ear, but Q still looks wild-eyed and ragged, and Eliot can’t stand the idea of breaking something so precious to him, not when he had been the one to crack it in the first place. 

“El,” Q’s voice cracks, anguish coloring that one syllable, his face starting to crumple. 

“Q,” Eliot replies, so gently, so careful. Q grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, and Eliot can’t help himself anymore and reaches out to put a hand on Q’s shoulder, in the way he has done so many times before. 

Except that this time, Q flinches, _hard_ , enough so that the chair skids away a few inches, and Eliot yanks his hand back like he’s been burned, terrified at the reaction he caused. They stare at each other, wide-eyed, Q breathing hard and fast, and Eliot with both hands raised in front of him.

“ _Fuck._ ” Quentin shoves himself up and away, navigating around the shit on the floor to grab the whiskey bottle. He downs a large swallow straight from the bottle before slamming it back down on the table. He hunches over, shoulders up to his ears and his back to Eliot. “Fuck, El, that was so stupid. I’m sorry, I didn’t - I know it’s you, but - _Fuck_.” 

“Fuck,” Eliot agrees weakly. He still feels like his heart is either going to burst out of his chest or shatter into a million pieces, but he forces himself to his feet anyway. He can’t see Q’s face right now, but he’s trembling so hard that the whiskey sloshes in the bottle. 

When Quentin releases his white-knuckled grip on the whiskey bottle, but keeps his back to Eliot, Eliot takes a step forward before stopping himself again. It breaks his heart to look at Q in this state, scared and hating himself for that fear. “Q. I understand. It's okay.” 

“How?” Q asks with a bitter laugh. He turns around, his face twisted up in a manic expression, and his hands flutter around in jerky movements as he speaks. “I’ve given up _everything_ , Eliot. So many times. Alice, my dad, all of goddamn magic. _You_. And now you’re back, and that should be the best thing that’s happened to me in months, but instead, my stupid, broken brain won’t even let me look at you. This fucking - the Monster’s goddamn quest,” and he spits the word quest like a curse, like he can’t stand the thought. “It took so much from me, I don’t even feel like a whole person anymore.” 

He meets Eliot’s gaze at last, tears shining unshed in his eyes. “I don’t know how to be anyone worth loving.” 

“Hey,” Eliot said. He steps forward, and when Q doesn’t have any more visceral reactions, he keeps moving closer, careful to keep his hands up. “You don’t have to be anything more than what you already are, not for me. I know you’re hurting, Q, and I know some of that is my fault.” 

“No,” Q shakes his head. “I knew it was never you, it was the Monster.”

“Before that,” clarifies Eliot. “When you told me proof of concept, and I was too afraid to admit how I felt."  
  
“Peaches and plums,” Q whispers. Eliot is only a few steps away from him now, and when Q reaches out his hand, he closes the distance between them, nearly crying from relief as Q wraps his fingers around Eliot’s. 

“Peaches and plums, motherfucker,” Eliot whispers back. Anything louder feels like it would shatter the fragile peace that has descended on them. He looks down at their intertwined hands and squeezes Q’s fingers. “Q, you don’t know this, but I promised my memory version of you that when I got out of there, I was going to be brave. You’ve been the brave one of us for so long. I could only be brave when I didn’t have any other choice, but I have a choice now, and I’m choosing you. I should have chosen you a long time ago. I’m sorry it took me so long, but this time I want to be brave. For you.” 

“Eliot,” Q shakes his head, looking up at him with sadness etched into every line of his face. He looks shaken and lost, like his grip on Eliot’s hand is his only tether in the storm raging in his mind. “I love you, I swear, but I can’t - I can’t be with you right now, I can’t be who you want me to be. I can barely keep my head above water most days.”

“I told you, Q,” says Eliot. “You don’t have to be anything. My feelings for you won’t change.” He pauses, searching Quentin’s face before asking, “But you’re kind of killing me here, so can I please touch you?” 

When Quentin gives a jerky nod, Eliot slides his other hand carefully over his cheek. That seems to break the last of Q’s defenses, because his eyes slam shut and tears stream down his face. Eliot wipes them away with feather-light touches, keeping himself calm while Q falls apart. 

“Oh, Q,” Eliot sighs. “I’ll always love you, however you need me to. I can be any version of Eliot you want. Eliot the Lush is great at distractions, but he’s just a temporary fix. High King Eliot was deposed, but I’m sure we can convince Margo to execute someone for us still. You’ve never met Rural Eliot, but I’m actually quite good with cute, furry animals.”

“What about,” Quentin asks, his voice barely cracking a whisper, his eyes still shut. “The Eliot who’s really good at hugs?” 

“Ah, one of the best Eliots,” Eliot says as he draws Quentin into his arms, wrapping one arm around his back and bringing his other hand to the back of his head. Quentin buries his face in Eliot’s chest and holds on, shuddering as he finally breaks apart. 

And for as long as Quentin wants to scatter his broken pieces, Eliot will be there to pick them up for him, until Q feels strong enough to carry them again. Until they can be human and terrified together, their awful hearts finding mending in the love they share. 


End file.
